


The Stars Don't Look the Same

by BetweenSkyAndSea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Clothed Sex, Dissociation, Distrust, Established Relationship, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, PTSD, Post-Canon, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Vaginal Sex, Vanilla, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenSkyAndSea/pseuds/BetweenSkyAndSea
Summary: He was in Almyra (probably) seeking out the throne (maybe)....Honestly, Byleth had no idea.On her best days she had been able to forget about him, instead working toward the goal that had propelled them through an entire war. On her worst days, she could only think of what he might be doing instead. Some days were plagued with doubt. Had he really loved her, as she still loved him? More contemptuous thoughts grew exponentially. Why should she give him space in her heart?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 135
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	The Stars Don't Look the Same

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vhrzs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vhrzs/gifts).



> My half of #thegoldengifts Claudeleth server exchange for Varzhosi :)
> 
> HUGE THANKS to TheMadClicker for being my beta reader!!

The morning reports had been a shock--no one had expected this.

Waves of enemy troops had erupted from the depths of their subterranean city in the middle of the night, eviscerating the same townships that had just begun reconstruction after the last siege. Countless civilians had been lost as thousands of Those Who Slithered in the Dark crashed over the continent, their lives swept carelessly away while she had watched the stars from her high tower like a pampered princess. She’d even begun to take them for granted. They didn’t hold the same shine without him.

It was a blessing that her Golden Deer were still posted with her in the capital, busily deciding how best to rule the new Fódlan they’d worked so hard to unite. But now they needed to pivot. Lorenz slipped into the role Claude had always taken beside her during the war, and as a group they worked through a strategy, however hasty.

First, the evacuation of civilians had to take place. Ship after ship glided upon the calm sea toward the safety of the Fraldarius coast on this warm and otherwise beautiful morning.

Byleth decided that if they were going to die (it was likely they would die on this day), at least the citizens of Derdriu would be safe. 

Next, they would fortify the walls of the outer bailey. They did not have enough troops to fully defend themselves. Claude was not here with his sly, knowing smile or wry commentary, with a carefully constructed scheme hidden up his sleeve to pull them through the final crucial moments.

He was in Almyra (probably) seeking out the throne (maybe). 

...Honestly, Byleth had no idea. 

On her best days she had been able to forget about him, instead working toward the goal that had propelled them through an entire war. On her worst days, she could only think of what he might be doing instead. Some days were plagued with doubt. Had he really loved her, as she still loved him? More contemptuous thoughts grew exponentially. Why should she give him space in her heart?

...Was he safe?

Byleth shuddered a seething sigh. There was no time to brood over this. 

The enemy were a scant few hours away from Derdriu by the time they’d fully mobilized. 

Their entire strategy hinged on fortifying the walls of the inner bailey, focusing on the southernmost wall. But as the song of battle began to play, Ignatz’s sharp eye caught the banners of the Imperial army cresting over the hills from the west.

They were trapped in a pincer attack.

They would die or be driven into the sea. 

On both fronts, Titanus units chipped away at the city’s outer stone walls like they were made of chalk. Enemy troops swarmed the main thoroughfares and up the hilly streets to the castle at the center, lighting the town as they marched.

Though the triple-thick walls of the inner bailey took more effort, a portion of it fell quickly enough.

“We cannot allow them to take the castle.” Byleth swallowed the panic that rose in her throat as she watched the battalions crash through the opening like eels swarming a carcass from their perch in the keep. _If they take the castle, we’re done._

Though Marianne had desperately tried to convince her to stay in the safety of the keep, Byleth was a mercenary through and through.

“I will not sit in this damn tower and allow anyone to throw their lives away for me,” she said quietly, shaking Marianne’s gentle hand from her shoulder.

So they joined the fray. 

Byleth was manipulating fate at every turn.

Watching her beloved friends fall was never easy. She had to take calculated bets on who to let linger in the cruel limbo of death, and who to save immediately. Turning back the flow of time to rescue all her allies left her drained.

With little stamina remaining, Byleth’s hands trembled around the pommel of the Sword of the Creator. The haze of smoke burned her eyes as she tripped through rubble, but she must press on. There was no alternative.

The Archbishop groaned as she righted herself once more. Surrounded by a whirlwind of blades and screaming soldiers, she stumbled over the bodies of the fallen. Most bore the Crest of Flames. The smell of blood mixed with sea-salt air was pungent and repulsive.

Byleth was so worn and hopeless that she felt distinctly detached from it all, merely a spectator to the demise of Fódlan.

It was in this final hour that a cacophony rang down from the heavens.

Her eyes swung upwards, and she winced against the bright afternoon sky which darkened as clouds rolled in. 

Not clouds.

_Wyverns._

Hundreds and hundreds of wyverns, enough to change the color of the sky. Byleth paused even as the battle raged around her, her sword arm falling slack at her side.

“No. It cannot be…” she said under her breath, a last flicker of hope springing to life despite the reality of the situation. 

Among the dark beating wings, a shimmering fleck of white caught her eye--Byleth’s body flooded with relief. 

She remembered how the Alliance leader’s heart had been nervously pounding against her chest when he’d said, _I love you_. Had it only been a few moons ago? 

The screaming masses of wyverns crested low overhead like bats erupting from a cave at dusk, nimbly avoiding Byleth’s troops to allow their riders to topple the massive mechanical Titanus units. With the element of surprise on their side, perhaps they would win this battle.

The high pitch of a particular wyvern’s particular scream knocked her from her trance. She turned back, her face wet.

“Miss me, your Grace?” the handsome man called out to her, poised upon his magnificent white wyvern. His clothing was unfamiliar, his hair done up in a scarf, but even from a dozen meters away, she recognized the bright flash of his smile.

Her booted feet moved of their own accord, pounding through the filth that littered the ground, toward the blindingly white beast and the lover she had presumed as good as dead.

 _You think it’s fine to swoop in at the last minute? It’s so easy to be a hero, huh Claude?_ Byleth wanted to snarl back.

The white wyvern did absolutely nothing to project their rider when Byleth swung at him, tears streaming down her face.

She caught Claude by the collar. She wanted to pull him from the beast and slam him to the ground, to pummel him until his disgustingly beautiful face was as tortured as he’d left her unbeaten heart when he skipped out to Almyra, leaving the burden of a country entirely on her unprepared shoulders.

But tears were freely rolling down that face, and adoration shone in his emerald eyes, exhausted though they were. He almost slipped from his wyvern and she used the momentum to smash her mouth against his, eliciting a very surprised sound.

As they parted, another wave of moisture pricked the corners of her eyes, and her mouth drew into a bitter frown of mourning. Why didn’t she feel happy to see him?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said softly, equally overwhelmed. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love.”

 _My love._ Her pulse quickened. 

It was shockingly easy for him to pull her back into orbit, but there was no time for such indulgence. Byleth shook her head to break the spell.

“Take me to the front lines,” she demanded as she slackened her grip, ignoring his honeyed words. As he righted himself in the saddle, she scrambled to take a seat behind him. His body was strong and warm and he smelled of lavender and pine and... sweat. How fast had he flown here?

There was no more time to think about it.

“Our allies need us.”

* * *

It was over.

While the hulking machinations remained, the last of the Those Who Slithered in the Dark had faded into dust, and the last of the Imperial loyalists had been slain. 

On the crumbling steps at the base of the castle her allies collected, war-worn once again. But all of them were _alive_ , and that was what counted most. Crushed in a group hug, she felt like she was their Professor all over again.

Claude easily earned their attention. When he turned that charming smile her way, she avoided making eye contact.

Wyverns perched along every wall and spire, squabbling amongst themselves. While the injured were tended to, fires were built and barrels of wine were pulled from the cellars. Almyran wyvern riders and Fódlan soldiers mingled amicably, becoming fast friends as the wine began to flow.

This celebration would certainly last long into the night. 

“A toast!” Lorenz Hellman Gloucester commanded the attention of the crowd with ease. 

“May the alliance between Fódlan and Almyra prove as strong as the bond between the Archbishop and the King!”

She wanted to strangle Lorenz for adding that last bit. Under the duress of taking a role she was shockingly unsuited for, the proud noble had guided her through the roughest patches of adjusting to the political process. She was lucky indeed he knew how to play his cards. 

Moreso, Lorenz knew _every_ grievance she’d aired about her betrothed. Byleth’s newly minted emotions had gotten the best of her more than once. He’d been a good friend, even though right _now_ she wanted to punch the stupid, haughty little smile he wore right off his face.

A whisper blossomed in her ear. “I’ve got this.” 

Byleth shivered. Claude was standing closely at her side as he addressed the troops. 

After saying a few words in the Fódlan tongue, he launched into a rousing speech in Almyran, a language completely unfamiliar to her ears. Apart from the use of her name, she understood none of it, but felt swayed regardless. Was this the true confidence of a King? Her brain lapsed when he switched back to the language she _did_ understand, retaining nothing of what he said as she stared with empty eyes over the crowd. Byleth gasped softly when Claude grasped her hand. His grip was strong as he raised their clasped hands to the heavens, as if he intended never to let go again.

“Archbishop Byleth Eisner, our lucky star,” he declared proudly, to booming applause. The crowd roared when he stole a kiss, overly intimate in such a setting. Feelings of love stirred but were just as quickly snuffed out.

He was here for the celebration, but hadn’t been here for the (her) struggle.

With only wine and a scant few mouthfuls of bread and dried meat in her stomach, Byleth let herself become an accessory on Claude’s arm.

Claude introduced her to the leader of each of his battalions; one apologized for their poor grip on the Fódlan language, and she apologized for her non-existent knowledge of the Almyran tongue. Hearty laughter was shared. And what were his troops calling him? Khalid? It was a fine name, but strange to her ears. 

As soon as they had a moment to themselves, Byleth gave it a shot. 

“...Khalid?” She was sure she’d butchered it. 

Her betrothed didn’t correct her. “Yes?”

“You seem… more you.”

“Do I? I guess ascending the throne will do that to a guy,” he winked.

Byleth swatted gently at his arm. She had a hard time articulating the aura that surrounded him now. “That’s not it. You’re a better version of yourself.”

“You sure know how to make a man feel like a King.” Khalid laughed, tugging her gently against his front. It was the most intimate contact she’d had in months, and she flushed accordingly.

Khalid grew tender. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? I know just the spot.”

* * *

A cliff overlooking the city was their destination. Even before they landed, purple blooms revealed their fragrance on the breeze. Fireflies glittered as the gentle evening approached. 

Khalid helped her from his wyvern’s back, catching her hands while she steaded herself on the soft, uneven field underfoot.

“Byleth.”

The weight of his desire hung heavy in the way he spoke her name. His arms were strong and warm at her sides. She buried her face into the expanse of chest in front of her, bare between the layers of the Almyran robes he wore. She savored the thrum of his heart and the scent of his skin, the strength of his body.

“I have so many things to say to you,” his voice trembled in his throat.

In this utterly romantic atmosphere, Khalid von Riegan wanted... to talk?

Byleth couldn’t place the emotion etched in his eyes when she glanced up at him. There was a potency to his manner she was unfamiliar with. 

“Hmm,” was the only reply she gave.

She had a thousand things to say, but none were kind. Talking held no interest for her. Byleth grabbed him by the collar for the second time today. She craved his taste.

“ _Again_ with the yanking?” Khalid complained playfully between forceful kisses. He tasted like wine and comfort.

“I need to feel you. All of you.” She urged him to lay with her.

Under the canopy of a wyvern’s wing, they made love.

Byleth reached under the hem of her shorts, tearing her tights so she could take him in. With his back pressed into the soft grass, she made short work of freeing him from his trousers. She sighed in contentment as they slotted together--this closeness was shared with no one else. 

Reconciling the pent-up frustration of his absence with the joy of his return, she lashed his neck with her tongue and teeth, not shy about marking him as hers. He cradled her, trying to instill some tenderness into the otherwise one-sided transaction. Byleth was having none of it, shaking him off and redoubling her efforts until her pleasure coiled tightly.

She cried his name to the stars blooming in the dusky sky. 

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he curled up to meet her. He let his lips linger against the shell of her ear, then kissed a path down her throat. Staring at the horizon, doubt made her wonder if it was true.

They came apart and pressed into each other again. 

The weight of his body and his steady rhythm melted some of the loneliness she’d felt for so many moons. He was ardent as they chased pleasure within each other.

Like it or not, and she did _not_ , she was the King’s prize.

Khalid moaned softly as he spilled his seed, nosing her for a kiss. She could feel the gentle tick of him inside her, and warmth spread through her at the comfort that provided.   
  
“Feel better now, my lucky star?” Khalid breathed. Tired though he was, he smirked fondly down at her; droplets of sweat fell onto her decolletage. 

Byleth’s face crumpled. It was difficult for her to keep her resolve when he threw tender pet names around. He knew that. It wasn’t fair. 

“Darling,” he whispered in concern, kissing her brow before they disengaged. Hastily tucking himself back into his pants, Khalid reached for her, but Byleth showed him her back.

“Why do you act like nothing's wrong?” she mumbled into her arm.

She heard the soft plop of leather gloves hitting the ground. Khalid reached over her side and took up her hand, folding their fingers together neatly. 

Something on his ring finger glittered. Her pulse quickened. It was Jeralt’s ring, expertly resized for him. He’d thought about her so much, he was wearing the ring as if they’d already exchanged vows. Byleth wiggled to face him. Khalid’s easy smile was gone, replaced with something somber.

Embarrassed, she sat up and plucked at a thin gold chain that dipped gently between her breasts, dipping to let him examine the jewelry at the end. They’d just slept together but something about _this_ intimacy made her blush. 

Recognizing the ring, Khalid’s expression warmed immeasurably. “Ah.”

“It was safer near my heart,” Byleth explained with a fond smile, tucking it back into her shirt with a comforting pat. She had to look out at the horizon as she gathered her resolve. She shivered when his arm dropped around her shoulders, and tilted to look at him.

“Khalid?”

He tucked a lock of minty hair behind her ear with the utmost affection. “Yes, love?”

She felt smothered. His behavior was no different than when they’d spent time together before the end of the war, yet so much had happened--or hadn’t happened, so it was.

“...It’s unfair you just get to pick up where we left off,” Byleth said, having found her resolve. “Why didn’t you contact us? I even didn’t know if you were _alive_ ,” she chided. “I needed my partner--”

“Byleth, I--”

His fingers curled against the nape of her neck. It seemed her silver-tongued lover had rendered himself speechless. The brash man she’d grown to love _always_ had a shrewd comment to add to the conversation, wearing careful masks to conceal his true colors. Yet now Khalid did nothing to defend himself in the face of her accusations, retreating into himself. 

Her hurt was secondary to the flash of pain she’d seen in his eyes.

Byleth leaned into his touch, pressing her cheek to his. His stubble tickled her skin.

“It wasn’t as simple as descending on the capitol to ask my father if he was tired of sitting on the throne,” he began gently, in that roundabout way he sometimes used when recalling something from his past. His masking smile was back, the one she hated even in the best of times. 

Fingertips smoothed down her chest, his palm lingering over the ring concealed beneath her armor. Khalid had been thinking of her often, hadn’t he? Then he drew away.

As he explained the way the hierarchy of the royal court worked in Almyra, Khalid knelt neatly in front of Byleth, taking his time to disrobe. First was the wide patterned sash, not so different from the one he’d worn during his stint as Duke of the Alliance. 

“My half-siblings are full Almyran. My siblings, cousins, uncles… they didn’t take kindly to a…” Khalid grimaced, sucking air through his teeth, “a… _half-breed_ contesting the throne, no matter how I exceeded the rest of the requirements.” 

The sash was folded and set aside with care, joining his gloves. 

“Traditions are big in Almyra, way bigger than they are here. They feel like a part of who I am, but… there were a lot of reminders that I wasn’t welcome.”

Next he plucked the ties of the finely embroidered outer robe that had been concealed by the sash, and shrugged his way out of it. Dread began to gnaw at her.

“Not like that would stop me,” he smirked, empty-eyed as he continued. “But some felt like I had a price to pay.”

He tugged at the thin cord that kept the inner robe in place. The light silk fluttered to the ground.

Wide-eyed, Byleth absorbed the map of ugly pink scars that had been painted over his abdomen since they’d last been nude in front of each other. 

“I’m grateful for my crest. Honestly? I don’t think I’d be here without it.”

There were many… the ugly, deep gouge under the left side of his ribs, a sloppy attempt at stopping his heart. A jagged, diagonal gash low across his belly, stretching from hip to hip. But most striking were the neat scars along the planes of his stomach in various states of regeneration, too deliberate to be from assassination attempts. She bit back tears.

His eyes refocused on her face, but he still wasn’t totally present. “No matter. They were proven wrong,” he said with a cruel smile, a chillingly rare show of his true sentiments. 

Terror and fury unwound in her. 

“If they’d intercepted anything I sent, it would have put you at dire risk. I can strategize and scheme all day, but I will never risk _your_ life, even if it means my own is forf--”

“Don’t say it.” Byleth interrupted, pressing her small hand over his chest. He was a master of projecting control and confidence--but while his voice was even, his heart was thundering.

Khalid raised her palm to his lips and flashed a smile through the screen of her fingers.

“...I’m sorry. I hope my little stunt today made up for it.”

Byleth laughed lightly through the tears it seemed he could not shed. Despite the moisture threatening to spill at the corners of his eyes, Khalid smiled softly and coaxed her onto his lap. His heartbeat had evened out. 

“I’d forgive you a thousand times. You’re the most fantastic person I’ve ever met, Clau-- Khalid.”

Khalid seemed intoxicated by her praise, pressing her for a kiss. The resentment and anger that had compounded over many moons wouldn’t be so easy to let go, but that was on her.

“...Whyever didn’t you tell me sooner?” she hiccuped through a sob, wiping her face like a child.

A wry laugh was her reward for that comment. “The lady gets what the lady wants, and the lady _wasn’t_ interested in talking.”

“Ah…” swaddled in his arms, Byleth’s face and chest burned hot. He kissed the bridge of her nose, then regarded her brightly through his thick lashes.

“Marry me. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” Byleth stuttered, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Surely, you’re tired of being betrothed. I certainly am. We can marry here or in Almyra, but if we marry here we’ll have to do it twice. Two feasts? Not so bad a plan, really--”

Khalid switched gears so quickly. Her fingers, combing through his thick hair, paused. That churning resentment burst forth this time, lacing her every word.

“Stop pulling the strings on my heart,” she demanded. “We’ll just have to part again--”

“Is that so?” A patient smile grew on his face, a flash of cunning in his eyes. “I heard the King of Almyra is taking a summer sabbatical... as long as the Archbishop of Fodlan is keen on wintering in a warm locale.”

She was quiet. He talked in more detail about wedding plans. Of course he did--he talked all the time. He grasped her chin. 

“During our time apart, I’ve realized the key to my ambition is _you_ , Byleth. Standing with you, every step of the way. I’m not letting you go this time.”

“The stars don’t look the same as they did, huh?”

“You’re right. They shine brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

* * *

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Despite loving Claude and the Golden Deer, a few of my friends had a negative reaction to his S-Rank support, so this was written with that POV in mind. I like to think he’d have a good reason for the lack of contact during his absence. 
> 
> This is actually the first canon-compliant Claudeleth fic I've written. My personal HC is that they planned his reunion & return as King all along (a lá Claude's paired ending with Lorenz), but that doesn't make a very dramatic fic, so ANGSTY it is.
> 
> Thanks for reading--please leave a comment! We writers live off of those. Haha. 
> 
> If you enjoyed the angst aspect of this fic, I invite you to check out my post-Silver Snow fic, featuring a Byleth struggling with grief and a *very* contemptuous Claude: [In A Shattered Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637510/chapters/51595432)
> 
> Follow me on twitter for FE3H thoughts and lots of 18+ art (I draw too)! [@btwnskyandsea](https://twitter.com/btwnskyandsea)


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